Pain for Pain
by The Madhatter2
Summary: Funny thing, she’s not blaming you. WilsonCuddyHouse friendship. Spoilers for 3x09 Finding Judas.


PAIN FOR PAIN

By The Madhatter

Disclaimer: Like I'd own these guys. Puhlease. I probably would drop out of school and focus on getting House and Cuddy together. :P They belong to FOX, David Shore, et al.

Rating: PG/K+

Spoilers: Anything up to 3x09 Finding Judas is fair game.

Pairing: Wilson/Cuddy/House friendship

A/N: This is what I wrote in between studying for my finals. I have one left… but that's not til Thursday, so I decided to let my brain rest a bit and finish this piece. My little take on Finding Judas. It's been a while since I've written anything… actually since this summer. My quarter's been hectic. I apologize in advance if this is crap.

---

"I can see what you mean by poking in the right place," Wilson muttered.

Cuddy half sobbed, half laughed at his true statement. "You know what's worse? It's the pain talking. He loses control when he's not on his meds, so he loses that filter and everything just comes out. It's not really him, but it still hurts, you know? I…"

Wilson stood up, grabbed a box of tissues off of her desk and handed it to her. "I know," he whispered sympathetically. "I know."

Cuddy wiped the tearstains off her face with a tissue and sniffed. "I don't know what to do anymore. I can't give him his prescription because he'll probably do something outrageous and get himself into more trouble with Tritter. And if I do give him his prescription, Tritter's going to think that I'm feeding his addiction, and then—"

"Whoa! Take a breath, Cuddy."

She stopped and did as he asked. "Tritter already said I failed. He's right. I can't keep this up any longer."

"Tritter said you failed? At what?"

"Keeping justice or whatever."

"You mean keeping House under control?" Wilson shook his head in disbelief. "You're about the only one who's been able to keep him like this for so long. If that's failure, I'd hate to see what actually passing is."

She let out a harsh sigh and crumpled the tissue into a little ball. "Dammit! He's right. The pressure is getting to me. I just wish—"

"—You probably shouldn't finish that sentence," Wilson cut in, giving her a small, understanding smile. "I understand. We need to think of something. We have to fix this before House jumps off the deep end."

"I think we're a little too late for that. He's already starting to lose control."

Wilson looked away for a moment, dreading the role each of them would have to play in this twisted chess game.

"You're not—" Cuddy gasped. "Are you sure?"

He looked up at her forlornly. "Someone has to. What do I have left to lose?"

"I'm sorry, James," she whispered. "I didn't—"

"I know. You understand what'll happen, right? And what role you'll have to play?"

"Usually, I'm the bad cop."

"Tritter's the bad one this time."

"I know." Cuddy gave him a grateful smile. "He's lucky to have a friend like you."

Wilson shrugged. "And you. He'll never admit it though." He squeezed her shoulder as an offer of comfort before departing Cuddy's office, determination set in his eyes.

---

"Mr. Needy to the rescue once again!" House shouted down the hall. "What did Cuddy need this time? Did she need to you kiss her ass, too? Or maybe—"

"House—" Wilson warned. "Do _not_ start with me."

"What happened now? Tritter threaten to take away—Oh, wait, what's left?"

"What the hell is wrong with you? You're losing control!"

"I'm losing pills! I need my pills. I'm in pain."

"Pills, pills, pills! That's all you ever talk about. You've lost it!"

"I have NOT lost it! I need my damn pills! I can't think. If I can't think, I can't do my job. I need my pills to help me function."

"You need to control yourself before you _lose_ your job! Tritter can put you away for a long time."

"Not gonna happen. Not as long as you and the rest of my team keep lying for me."

"He can through Cuddy."

"Cuddy won't fire me, no matter how much pressure he puts on her."

Wilson sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "No, she won't. She'll just break and lose everything," he muttered.

"Tritter won't break her."

"No, just you."

House blinked. "What are you talking about?"

Wilson clenched his hands into fists. "You wanna know why I was in her office earlier? Because she was _crying._ Cuddy, of all people, broke down! You know why? Because you're a heartless, son of a bitch. That damn mouth of yours doesn't know when to stop."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Wilson let out a bitter laugh. "Don't even try to play dumb with me, House. You know what you said to her. Funny thing, she's not blaming you. Hell, she _understands_ if that makes sense. Lot more than you deserve."

House was silent for a moment, then, "You know something."

"So do you. You knew she was trying to get pregnant and you had to shove it in her face."

"Wait, what?"

"You… don't know?" Wilson asked incredulously, suspiciously almost.

"Every time I asked, she always said she wasn't pregnant. I just assumed the tests were negative."

Wilson looked down at the ground, rubbing the back of his neck. "They were."

"She miscarried," House stated, almost with tinge of sadness, but Wilson wasn't sure.

"The last one."

If Wilson wasn't so angry, he would've guessed that House was slightly hurt. Hurt at the news or hurt at the fact Cuddy didn't tell him or both, Wilson would never know.

He took a deep breath, controlling himself. "I know you won't apologize to her, but the least you could do is lighten up. She's under enough pressure from you and Tritter as it is."

House merely nodded and stalked off.

---

House slowly made his way down to the clinic telling himself it was the pain in his leg, the renewed tightness in his shoulder, and the beginnings of a sore back that was holding him hostage – probably from all the pacing, nothing more. The effort it took to open the glass clinic door felt like ripping his arm off, and he had to bite his lip to keep from yelling out.

"I can't let you in there, House."

Evil Nurse Bitch – Betty? Brenda? Betsy? Who the hell cares – was in his way, stopping him from getting his pain relief. "I'm going in whether you let me or not. Are you going to move or do I have to cause a scene?"

"Doctor Cuddy specifically asked not to be disturbed by anybody, especially you."

"What, are you her personal guard dog now? 'Cause barking doesn't scare me. I can bite faster than you can bark."

"House—"

He noticed Cuddy look up from her desk—no sign of crying or weakness, nice touch up on the makeup—and point behind him. Slowly, he turned around, not wanting to aggravate his sore muscles, and saw a small white Styrofoam cup sitting on the pharmacy counter. His lifeline. There _must_ be a God.

House greedily grabbed the cup and tipped it back, allowing the two pills to slide down his throat with ease. Closing his eyes, he counted briefly before starting to feel the effects of the Vicodin. Relief flooded his body, except the shoulder and the back. Interesting. Grimacing, he crumpled the cup and tossed it into the trash. This should last until he got home, then that would be another story.

After waiting until Evil Nurse Bitch was engaged with a patient, he slipped into Cuddy's outer office, leaning against the file cabinets to rest. Silently, he caught his breath, watching the chief administrator take on her role with ease, looking over file after file, making notes on post-it notes, checking records on the computer. What a life.

But his keen sense of observation noticed the smaller details everyone else would gloss over. There were dark circles under the makeup, her shoulders were tense, and the way she tapped her index finger against the desk suggested that she was on the verge of breaking something or breaking down. She was barely holding up. The cracks were getting larger and deeper, armor tarnished and broken.

House checked for other signs of breaking, but she was better at hiding them now, nearly as well as his. His back tensed slightly as he saw the steaming coffee mug sitting at the corner of the desk. The baby. Or lack of one. A deep wave of melancholy hit him hard in the chest. He should've noticed the obvious signs that something was wrong. The protests that she wasn't pregnant, the increase in coffee intake, the carefully gaited walk, the red-lined eyes, the loss of appetite – everything was right before his eyes. He was too blinded by the pain, the pills and Tritter's mess to notice anything. He closed his eyes in frustration and anger at himself. Everything was falling apart at his feet and he couldn't -- wouldn't -- do a damn thing. Damn pride.

Taking a breath, he pushed open the doors to her inner office, prepared for the lashing he expected to receive.

All he got was a small sigh. Not even a recognition. She must be really pissed or hurt or stressed. Probably all three, his mind countered.

"Pills?"

"You just took your dose. I'm not giving you anymore."

Still not looking, huh? Uh-oh. "What about for tonight? Are you going to babysit me until then? Or are you going to come at three a.m. to give me my dose?"

Cuddy finally looked up at him, exasperated. "Here you go." She whipped out the top desk drawer, rummaged a bit, then pulled a little orange bottle with four pills inside. "For your two doses before you come to work tomorrow. Use it wisely."

"Wanna write that on the insert?"

"It's already there."

House looked away, thumping his cane against the carpet, thinking. He couldn't apologize; she wouldn't accept it or wouldn't take it seriously. He sucked at empathy. Any physical contact could possibly end up with a slap in the face or a knee to the groin. Neither seemed like a good idea. So, he did the one thing he could do. Popping the lid off the bottle, he made sure it landed on top of the file she was looking at, and took out two pills, shoving them in his breast pocket.

"What are you—"

"Keep the change."

He placed the bottle next to the lid and left without another word. She would understand. He would atone for their pain with his. One pill for her and one for Wilson.


End file.
